


what she's having

by woodhouse



Series: The Ephron Collection [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Romance, Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodhouse/pseuds/woodhouse
Summary: When Clarke first met Bellamy, she had agreed to drive him to New York City. On the way, they found out a couple of things about each other. According to Bellamy, men and women can't be true friends, because sex will always get in the way. According to Clarke, Bellamy Blake is an idiot.The drive was a disaster but - for better or for worse - life kept throwing them back together. OR the loose When Harry Met Sally AU I asked myself for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All hail Nora Ephron. You can send me bellarke prompts over at my tumblr (@shrinkthemoon).
> 
> Also, the statement is only proved wrong in this case bc ROMANCE. Obviously it's bullshit.

Clarke had never regretted a decision more in her life. She found she could say this with absolute certainty, having had two hours and counting of mostly silent, internalised rage to think about it. As miles and miles of grey concrete highway passed her by, she flicked through every horrible decision of her entire existence. She was sure. Agreeing to drive Bellamy Blake to New York City had been a huge, _huge_ mistake.

When Octavia had mentioned, two weeks before Clarke was due to pack up her things for good and drive on out of her beloved college life in Boston, that her brother was looking for a ride, Clarke was keenness personified to help out her friend. Octavia wasn't due to graduate for another three years, but that hadn't stopped them from bonding when they had met in a sculpture extra-curricular. Clarke had been there to experiment in a new medium; Octavia had joined because she was crushing hard on the programme leader. In one of the early life modelling sessions, Octavia had complimented Clarke on her (clay) ass, and that had been the beginning. Clarke had loved her final year, and Octavia had definitely contributed to that sense of joy: she was an expert de-stresser and so Clarke was happy to help out. When she was thanked later that day with cupcakes and vodka, she knew - well at least she _thought_ she knew - she'd made the right choice.

The morning of The Big Move was enough on its own to make Clarke anxious. She had meticulously packed all of her belongings and had stored them, tetris style, into the back of her car as best as she could the night before. She had made sure to leave ample room for anything Bellamy might be bringing, because _she was a good person_. That hadn't stopped her from triple checking every nook and cranny of her room before she locked up, or checking off the items of her list in the car while she waited. And waited. Clarke checked the time - 10am. The time she'd asked him to arrive. She tapped her nails on the back of her phone impatiently, scouring the campus for a male with bags.

Twenty minutes passed. Bellamy arrived, strolling if you can believe it (Clarke couldn’t) onto the campus courtyard, as if he had all the time in the world. Clarke got a good look at him, it was hard not to, there was barely anybody else in sight and he was walking at a snail's pace. He was wearing a thin navy sweater, washed up jeans with a rip across the knee and beat up black converse. He had a huge rucksack on his back and carried a cardboard box against his torso. When he got closer, Clarke made a clearer impression: of broad shoulders, tan skin, face set permanently to wry.

“You’re late,” Clarke had said through gritted teeth. Her hands had been placed firmly on her lips and she was practising her best intimidating glare.

“And you’re Clarke,” had been his reply. Clarke had wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face there and then. In hindsight, that should have been the only red flag needed to deny him entry into her beat up Volkswagen (it had been her dad's first car and she loved it). Let him get to the city on his own time, since he clearly had no respect for hers. Instead, when he’d asked her if she was ready to go, she’d only looked at him as if to say, ‘I’ve been ready for the past half hour, jackass.’

If it hadn’t have been for the promise she had made his sister, she wouldn’t have opened her trunk for him to stash his stuff. In went the box, rucksack, and tied at the side – “seriously, a skateboard? Are you twelve?” He had just laughed and jumped in to the passenger seat. She took a deep breath. _Think of Octavia, sweet Octavia!_

He managed to mock her choice of music and car air freshener before they had even pulled out onto the main road.

Clarke had gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "Are you even related to Octavia?" she asked in (half) mock indignation.

Bellamy just pulled out a pack of soft mints and started chewing on one. "Same mom," he had replied with ease.

If his general rudeness wasn't annoying enough for Clarke, Bellamy Blake was the most contrary person on the planet. Literally any opinion Clarke proffered was shot down by him immediately. What she liked about fall, what she was looking forward to in the city, her favourite authors, comic book heroes, how to properly brew coffee. They had parried back and forth for nearly forty minutes when Clarke finally snapped. “You’re insufferable!” she had all but yelled into the windscreen, checking her mirrors, not wanting to turn to look at what she presumed was a shit eating grin on his face. “How can you honestly believe that? Are you a complete dick or are you just saying stuff to piss me off?”

Bellamy stretched out and brought his feet up to the dashboard. “It’s my masculine wiles, princess. You’ll never be sure.”

“I’m sure you’re a pain in the ass,” she said reaching out and batting his feet down to the stair well which she had conscientiously cleared of all her art supplies for him to you know, _use like a proper person_. She reminded him of the fact.

“I think you’re only serving to prove my point.”

“Hey—just because you have questionable opinions and happen to be male does not mean that a man and a woman can’t ever have an honest friendship! It’s ridiculous.”

“Far from it. It’s just nature. Science. Whatever you want to call it. Granted the sexualities have to align, but if they do – it’s simple. A man cannot be friends with a woman. The sex issue is always going to come up, in, or between them.” He said it with such confidence, as if it was an irrefutable truth.

“Bullshit. You are _so full_ of bullshit. My best friend is a guy and we’ve never had sex.”

Bellamy let out a short bark which Clarke supposed was a laugh. “I promise you: either you, or him, want to bone.”

“You don’t know shit, Bellamy. You're basing this on nothing.” Clarke was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing Wells had admitted to having a crush on her. Besides, they had actually worked through it and were still friends. She knew she could use it to back up her point, but frankly it was none of his damn business. Clarke couldn't imagine ever sharing anything personal with this guy; he was a caveman. There was also the issue of her bisexuality to nullify her point about his statement, but whatever. “If you really feel that way,” Clarke continued, “I feel sorry for you.”

His voice had a little biting edge to it when he replied. “Didn’t ask for a pity party.”

“No, just the longest car ride straight from hell.”

“You’re a little impatient, anyone ever tell you that?” The bite was gone.

 

* * *

 

Clarke had been determined not to let the nearly four hour drive from Boston become a total disaster if she could help it. She _had_ started off with polite, inoffensive small talk. Together with the pieces she had put together from Octavia, she could confidently say the following about Bellamy Blake: he had just graduated as a history major, he was moving back to Brooklyn where he and Octavia had grown up, he couldn’t really afford to live in his old neighbourhood but he had agreed a sublet from one of his professors who knew him well, he had a job lined up as a research assistant at Columbia, he was an overprotective brother, he had freckles that peppered his skin which were not at all distracting, neither were his dimples, his opinions were completely wrong and he completely pissed her off.

So that was how she had found herself nearing the end of her journey. Seething in a pool of hatred. It wasn’t quite how she had pictured the beginning of her post-grad life to begin, but nothing is ever perfect. Her mind wandered as she took in the skyline, growing larger in the background with every minute. The drizzling rain of the morning had stopped and a few rays of sunshine were trying to break through the bank of cloud that hung in the sky. Clarke couldn't wait to paint her way through the city once she had gotten settled.

Her reverie was broken by Bellamy. As if suddenly realising his staggering impoliteness with only half an hour to go (so what if Clarke had been speeding a little? This journey needed to be over ASAP!), Bellamy had decided to ask her about herself.

“What about me?” Clarke replied with a sceptical scowl.

“What are you doing in the city?” He gestured with his arm to the view in front of them.

“Oh, uh, journalism. Hopefully. I’m walking into a couple of part-time internships and I’m going to keep my fingers crossed that one of them sticks.”

“Brave princess.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Princess?"

He was waiting for her to bite. "Just how am I a princess?"

"Well for one, I assume someone's got a nice little treasure trove for you to be moving to Manhattan on the back of _internships_. Maybe a little tower waiting to move in to. And, you know, you're high maintenance." _You know_. As if it was obvious and he didn't even know why she was asking.

Clarke was not going to talk about her mother with him, but she wasn't backing down from his last comment. "I am not high maintenance!"

"Ah, my favourite type. High maintenance who _think_ they're low maintenance. There is no hope for you."

Before she could even get a word in to defend herself, he had started counting obnoxiously on his fingers. "Your belongings all have monogrammed stickers on them, if your hands are anything to go by you live in a manicure parlor, your CD stack here is alphabetized, you have an 8 point system for brewing coffee. High maintenance."

"I just like things how I like them, what's so wrong in that?"

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief when she finally pulled up to their agreed drop off point. They both got out of the car in silence, stretching their limbs and cracking their joints.

“Well it’s been a pleasure,” Bellamy told her as he helped himself to his bags and dumped his skateboard to the ground. Clarke scoffed because she couldn’t control herself. A pleasure. That was one way to call it. She raised her eyebrows and gave a sarcastic nod. Bellamy twisted his mouth a little, as if trying to hold back a smile, or a barbed comment. She couldn't quite tell.

“See you around, Clarke.” With that, he was skating off down the street, and Clarke could finally breathe the fresh, no-nuisance air.

 

* * *

 

It was not as if Clarke forgot their interaction, exactly. It was far too annoying to forget entirely. But honestly? Her life had turned into such a whirlwind of activity – both good and bad – since dropping Bellamy off in Brooklyn almost a year ago, that she hadn’t thought of him since. That didn’t mean that those memories wouldn’t come flooding back if, say, she found herself face to face with him at a keg queue. Because they did - they really, really did. Bellamy had looked half surprised, half amused, and wholly attractive when he recognized her. Objectively speaking. It was no use to Clarke how attractive someone was if they were also a giant douchebag. _Just my luck_ , Clarke thought as she looked him up and down. He was wearing a white shirt, sleeves folded back to reveal some of his forearm, a thin black tie slightly loosened at the neck, and smart black trousers. Seriously, the one night in almost a month that she had set aside for relaxation and fun, and of course he would be there.

“Long time, no see, princess. What brings you here?” Annoyingly, he didn't seem fazed at all.

“Blake,” she nodded in way of greeting. “I would say nice to see you but,” she rolled her eyes and shoulders simultaneously in an exaggerated motion. If the slight sparkle in his eye was anything to go by, he could fill in the blanks. Still, Clarke reasoned that polite conversation shouldn’t be beyond her, especially if she still didn’t want the evening to be a complete write off. And of course, Octavia. “I’m here with my date, he’s over there,” she added and motioned with her head to the corner of the room where Finn Collins was chatting to some of his colleagues.

She had met Finn at an after work function earlier that month, and let's just say he had not been backward about coming forward with regards to Clarke. She hadn't minded. He was cute, and it was nice to feel admired and wanted. Although their work schedules meant they couldn't see each other as much as they might like, she had enjoyed the dates they had been on so far. He was charming and attentive, and could really pull off the drop kiss under a starlit sky. Clarke was enjoying being swept up in the romance.

A little snort escaped from Bellamy’s mouth when he saw who she was referring to. “Right, Collins. Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarke asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” Bellamy replied with palms raised in innocence. “You’re up.”

“Huh?”

Without speaking, Bellamy had leaned into her slightly, reached an arm by and beyond her waist without touching her and returned it with beer in hand before she could protest. He smelled clean, she noticed, which was a far sight nicer than the stale cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol she had been surrounded with ever since she had left Finn with his friends. You would think adult house parties would be more elegant than the ones in college, especially those with a dress code, but apparently not. She accepted the beer with a thanks, and he lightly knocked his rim to hers.

“Cheers,” he said with a small smile.

“Cheers,” Clarke offered back. “You’re still a dick.”

He let out a small laugh and tilted his head in what she thought was agreement.

It wasn’t awkward, until it was. They had walked back together to where Finn was gathered with people Clarke hadn't really had the opportunity of meeting yet. The party was a housewarming for a Columbia teaching aide, Roma, who Finn had worked with on a charity education project. She was also the woman who Bellamy happened to be dating. Clarke felt sorry for her instantly, but then winced at herself for her unfairness. Harbouring ill will like this wasn't good or healthy, she knew. She'd try to do better. The small talk had flowed pretty smoothly between them all and a few other colleagues: what neighbourhoods they lived in, what they liked about it, what they did for a job, where they went to college, the usual spiels. Clarke had checked in with Bellamy about Octavia; although she still kept in touch with her it had been at least a month since they last spoke, what with her hectic work schedule. She smiled through his grumblings about a "lecherous old man" he was trying to get O to avoid. Lincoln was anything but, and they both knew it.

It was a couple of hours later when they had found themselves back in the keg queue when it all went to shit. Again.

“So, listen, maybe we should try the whole friends thing.” Bellamy had muttered it low into her ear like it was a secret.

Clarke had nearly choked on her own spit. “What now?”

He drew an eyebrow up and folded his arms. “Is friendship such a foreign concept to you?”

“Are you _serious_ right now? Friends? From the guy who said and I quote ‘a man cannot be friends with a woman. The sex issue is always going to come up, in, or between them.’”

“I think you’ll find I said if they were straight which you are not, so we’re fine.”

“What bullshit logic is that if I’m still attracted to guys?”

“I don’t know Clarke, is your attraction to me going to get in the way of our friendship?”

He was so infuriating Clarke didn’t even know where to begin. The most obnoxious, arrogant, fuck—

“I’m kidding, princess!” Bellamy said. If it was meant to reassure her, it really didn’t.

“I don’t know what games you’re playing, Bellamy, but I’m not interested. I may happen to think that your opinions are complete bullshit, but I think your warped mind actually believes in them. And so I don’t know what kind of skeevy shit you’re trying to pull, inviting me into a friendship when you’re dating Roma, but if you’re looking to keep your options open I can assure you I am not your girl.”

“Clarke, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“You heard me.”

“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick here princess, maybe because it’s shoved so far up your ass," he seethed at her.

Clarke found she couldn’t get in an as-yet-unformed witty retort, because Bellamy had thrown his beer in the trash and walked off.

 

* * *

 

In Clarke's experience, break ups were either a relief or heartbreaking. There was no in between. Breaking up with Finn definitely fell into the latter category. What was worse, she felt like a shell of a woman, like she was wrong somehow, to let a boy - _a stupid boy_ \- get to her like this. He got to her so much that she was wandering the streets with nothing in her head, just a pale haze. She was messing up her write ups for her boss, littering her pieces with typos and fragmented sentences. It was unsurprising to her that she wasn't writing well, she wasn't well full stop. But all anyone else at work seemed to see was melodrama. Something she needed to get up from, to get over, to get on with the real world.

Her heartbreak was born out of complete, abject humiliation. It was born out of shame. And when she found herself telling Bellamy Blake out of all people all about it, she thought she'd gone insane.

It had been an afternoon in early September, when the days were slowly starting to shorten but the light still held on for as long as it could. She had gone into the Strand Bookstore to browse absent mindedly. She liked to trail her fingers along the spines of the long bookshelves, liked to climb up the shelf ladders and peer into the aisles ahead. Whatever. It was comforting, and she still needed comfort, despite having slammed the door in Finn's face almost three weeks ago. No amount of ice cream or alcohol had been able to distract her from the reams of incoming calls from him during those weeks. No amount of conversations with Wells or Octavia had been able to give her the warmth of a hug when they were both miles away.

Bellamy was in the Classical History section when she saw him - when they saw each other. She couldn't have avoided him if she had tried, since they both happened to catch each other's eyes at the same moment. Curse you, fate. Suppressing a sigh, she had walked towards him. He was wearing glasses, she noticed immediately. The type with the thick black frames, _ultimate hipster_ , Clarke thought disparagingly, but damn did they look good on him. By the size of the lenses it seemed like he needed them badly.

"Bellamy," she mumbled in way of greeting, playing with the straps of her tote bag for want of something to do.

"Griffin."

He seemed strained, in some way. More tired maybe, the skin darkening a little under his eyes and they were - duller, Clarke thought. He had turned back to the shelves and didn't appear to want to prolong the conversation which, again, threw Clarke off a little. He was quiet, and therefore wasn't annoying or obnoxious. It was weird and - she meant this in as good a nature as she possessed in that moment - unBellamy. Perhaps that was what prompted her to ask if he was okay, despite the way their last interaction had gone. Perhaps she was just lonely.

"Just peachy," was his low-pitched reply, his voice was so rough Clarke winced at the thought of his throat.

"You sound awful."

"Yeah, and you're just a bucket of compliments." He went back to sifting through biographies of Cicero.

"Shut up." Clarke persisted when she got no reply. "Seriously. Are you sick?"

When Bellamy had passed it off as just a cold, Clarke had rolled her eyes behind his back; he was still facing the bookshelf.

"You need some tea or something."

"I'll bear that in mind, doc."

"God, you're an ass."

As she went to walk away to another aisle, Clarke heard a clatter behind her. When she turned around, she saw Bellamy flat on his back, one arm with its hand clutching the ladder handle, the other cradling his head. She paced back over to him and crouched down by his side. "Just slipped," he mumbled. Clarke pushed down on his nails and drew the skin from his hand up like a tent.

"I knew it," she told him. "You're dehydrated. Get up." She yanked on his hand until he was sat upright. "Do you feel dizzy?"

He shrugged, which she took for an _I-can't-admit-weakness_ yes. "Let's get you some air. Slowly. I don't need you vomiting all over me."

When they were both outside on the street, Bellamy stopped leaning so heavily on Clarke and turned to her instead.

"So, tea, huh?" He was looking at a point in the middle distance. When he swallowed, Clarke looked down at his adam's apple and blushed slightly at the thought of him noticing.

"Yeah, preferably herbal or something with honey and lemon."

"I actually know a pretty good tea house around here. Make Tea Not War?"

Clarke had heard about it on an independent blog. The photos on the post looked good, she remembered, and the teas they stocked sounded impressive.

"Well, would you wanna come grab a cup?" Bellamy asked tentatively.

She paused and looked up at him. He didn't _seem_ like he was joking.

"And if you say one word about how I'm trying to come on to you I swear to god--"

Clarke let out a laugh, stifling it into her sleeve. "No yeah, got it. Tea sounds great."

The tea house turned out to be owned by two of Bellamy's friends, Jasper and Monty. At Clarke's raised eyebrow, he just said he had friends in high places. The friends in question were actually chipper, a word she had heretofore never used to describe a person, let alone two of them. It was a lost art nowadays. They were definitely not what she pictured a Bellamy Blake friend to be. "Is that what happened? Did they secretly suck out all of your joy to feed their own souls and just left you as a permanent grump?" Clarke had asked them all at the counter with wide eyes. 

Bellamy had playfully shoved her away, telling her to get a seat, and shut Jasper and Monty down immediately with a death glare. "Not a word, just tea. Whatever's good here for her, and whatever will make me not feel like death." The pair got to it right away, sharing excited glances as Bellamy went to find Clarke.

She had picked out a free table for two next to the window. Everything was sturdy in here, which he appreciated. Solid oak tables and chairs; it was grounding. Clarke was stabbing at a cactus plant on the table when he sat down. "Play nice," he said.

"It started it," Clarke replied petulantly, causing Bellamy to chuckle a little.

Jasper came over eagerly to hand the pair their tea. When Bellamy took a sip, his throat thanked him for it. He turned to Clarke, who also seemed to be appreciating her brew.

"So how've you been?" God, he hated small talk.

Clarke, Bellamy noticed, had tried to skate around the issue of her wellbeing with noncommittal phrases. Fine. Okay. Same-old.

"How's things with Collins?"

Clarke rattled her cup against her saucer so violently, a couple of other patrons actually turned to their table to see if anything had smashed. She flamed up like a beetroot and waved a hand to signal all was well. Bellamy immediately regretted his question. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's uh- we broke up. I broke up with him." Clarke refused to meet his eyes, instead boring her gaze into her cup.

Bellamy just sat and nodded, leaving the space for her to talk if she wanted to. She begrudgingly appreciated it. Clarke went on, "Yeah it was," she let out a little cough that signified at the same time both her discomfort with the topic and her determination to talk it through, "a shitstorm really." Clarke thought Bellamy might laugh at that point, she got the impression he didn't care for Finn very much, but he just scowled. His brow came together to form a little crease in the middle, and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with intent. He remained silent.

"It turns out," Clarke resumed quietly - so quietly that Bellamy had to lean forward, elbows resting on the small table. "It turns out that Finn already has - or now had, I guess - a girlfriend. Of four years. She's awesome - it's a long story. She came back to visit him from the West Coast and I, like the idiot I am, had planned a uh- a romantic surprise in his apartment." She could feel the tears welling in her eyes, burning at the edges of her vision. She hated feeling this way, almost as much as she hated the look of pity on Bellamy's face in front of her. "Yeah let's just say running down the street to hail a cab, without your shoes, in a French maid outfit is the new physical definition of shame." She wiped her tears away and looked out of the window.

"That son of a bitch," Bellamy said with a quiet darkness.

Clarke sniffed and turned to him with a small smile. "Actually his mom's pretty nice."

Bellamy returned her smile and offered a confession of his own. "Roma just split up with me. Last weekend."

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. Bellamy offered up his hand to shake the comfort off as if he didn't really need it.

"It's fine, I'm over it."

The pull in his voice let them both know he wasn't.

 

* * *

 

Without even meaning to, and without either of them asking, Bellamy and Clarke fell into a friendship. That initial cup of tea had broken down something of their enmity, and two more cups had dissolved it entirely. Of course they still argued, but if you asked either of them at any point afterwards they’d both agree: they were good people.

For all its magnitude, New York City could become a lonely place really quickly – especially if you realise your wider social circle was linked to your ex. In avoiding them, you were avoiding nearly all of your acquaintances. At least until your heart mended.

In that way, Bellamy was a gift for Clarke. Someone she could be with, think with, laugh with - in order to move on. She had taken to texting him occasionally, which turned to frequently, which turned to constantly over a matter of weeks. If he was surprised they had so much to say to each other, he never mentioned it, and neither did Clarke. In her opinion, it was better not to dwell on the dark days of her wishing she could batter him in with a hammer.

At first, they were each other's personal cheerleaders for getting back into the dating game. They would give each other tips and encouragement, and comfort when they didn't turn into anything other than disappointments or kisses with no spark. "It's so much harder to be kiss compatible than sex compatible," Clarke had said one day over the phone.

"How so?" Bellamy thought the two went hand in hand. It was all a matter of chemistry.

"Well, yeah. Maybe compatible is the wrong word. It's more to do with compromise, I guess. You can't compromise on good kissing. You can't fake your way through a bad one."

Bellamy rocked his head back on his bed post, nearly dropping his cell from his ear. "And what, you can fake good sex?"

"Duh." Clarke had said from the opposite end.

"Bullshit. You know if it's not working. Not that I really know," he boasted, only half seriously. Clarke knew he wasn't really a douchebag anymore.

"Oh, the ignorant world of men," she said in exasperation. "Girls fake it all - the - time. It's easy."

"I'm not buying it. It would be obvious."

"God, your egos are so precious. It's not even always a bad thing, like if we've already gotten off it's not like we _have_ to orgasm through intercourse to still feel pleasure, but you try telling a guy that."

"It's not that girls _have_ to, but when they do - they do."

"What, you think you could honestly tell the difference?"

"Every time."

It went quiet on her end, but only because Clarke wasn't one to back down from a challenge. It started with her breathing. He could hear her taking long but shallow breaths.

"Clarke?"

He could hear her make a noise at the sound of his voice, a small moan from the back of her throat. He snorted, finally realising what she was trying to do.

"Okay princess, I get it, you don't have to-"

"Bell-" she let out on her breath, she sounded further away and he strained to listen.

"I'm here," he said quietly. It was getting more painful to swallow with each passing second; he could hear her panting and moaning quietly.

"Oh god - yes, I need you there -"

His eyes widened and he couldn't even ignore how hard he was getting. She sounded strung out and he ached to know what she looked like, what she was doing.

"Clarke-" he said, strangled for breath.

"More - yes -" she let out, her voice breaking. "Yes - Bell!"

He bit down on his fist as he started palming himself through his jeans. She was driving him crazy; the thought of her touching herself; thinking of him; saying his name; it made him want to yell out.

After a high keening and loud pants of breath, Bellamy was scrambling to get his fly open when Clarke's voice immediately emerged, much closer to his ear. "See?" she sounded bright and cheery, and completely in control. "Easy!"

He knocked his head against the wall and tried to control his own breathing. She was going to be the death of him.

"Okay, you've made your point."

Bellamy had ended the conversation as quickly as he possibly could afterwards. He needed a long, cold shower.

 

* * *

 

 

Gradually, the dates seemed to fizzle out on both sides, but their hearts had healed in the meantime. Instead of emotional crutches, they had settled into an easy partnership which mainly balanced on making sure the other wasn't eaten up by their work load - that they actually lived the amazing life they were meant to be having in New York, see: all pop culture ever. Clarke dragged him to exhibitions, Bellamy dragged her to open mic nights. They both dragged each other to different cafes and bars they'd heard about.

It wasn't until Octavia had come back to visit her brother on a reading week that either of them noticed they had created something between them worth noticing. Bellamy had walked from his kitchen bearing two cups of steaming coffee, into the lounge where Octavia had been painting her toenails. When he placed hers gently down by her feet, he mentioned their plans for the afternoon. Namely, Clarke needed help picking out a new coffee table and they were going to help her choose. Octavia raised her eyebrow.

"Are we now?" she asked playfully.

"Yes? Why, did you not want to?" he asked, confused.

"Oh no, big brother. Far be it for me to distract you from your domestic bubble."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't? Maybe that's because I tend to talk about other things rather than _Clarke-this, Clarke-that_. It's your brand new vocabulary," she teased with a wink.

"Look, I just thought you of all people wouldn't mind helping-"

"Relax!" Octavia shoved her feet into his stomach playfully, making sure not to smudge her toes. "I think it's cute."

"We're not cute. We're the opposite of cute."

It got worse later when Clarke appeared to be hanging on to every opinion Bellamy chose to profess about coffee tables. It was hard to ignore Octavia arching her hands together and nodding sagely behind Clarke's back but in Bellamy's eye line, as if she had discovered some new great secret of the universe.

When Bellamy was lifting the table they had chosen up to Clarke's apartment, Octavia pulled Clarke back and whispered in her ear.

"So what's going on with you and Bell?"

"Oh, not you too."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"

"Do you make all your friends choose your coffee tables?"

"Well it hardly means we're anything more. It's a table, O. A table."

Octavia just shrugged and carried on walking up the stairs.

If she was being honest with herself, Clarke would admit to being slightly confused about her feelings for Bellamy. And if slightly was a gross understatement, then she would forgive herself for it. She didn't want Bellamy to be right. He was an attractive guy, but he was so much more than that.

When she texted him later that week, after Octavia had gone back to Boston, she wanted to check how he was holding up without his sister.

 **Clarke** : _U up?_

 **Bellamy** : _Yeah, just got in from a run._

 **Bellamy** : _And spell like a normal person._

 **Clarke** : _Ur such an old man. Just b glad I don’t drown u in emojis._

 **Bellamy** : _I have O for that._

Clarke rolled up her contacts list and hit call. After two rings, Bellamy picked up.

“Hey.”

“Who goes for a run at night?”

“Me.”

“I’ll never understand you.”

“Masculine wiles.”

Clarke laughed and settled in to her pillows. She could hear Bellamy running water from the other end of the line. She turned on her TV and started flicking through the channels.

“Remember to stretch,” Clarke reminded him.

“Yes mom,” he yelled back. It sounded like he was far away. He’d probably put her on speaker while he sorted his stuff out. Maybe Clarke should have been concerned that she was imagining every little detail that Bellamy was up to, but it mainly went by unnoticed.

“Aha!” she squealed.

“Found something?” He sounded closer now. She wondered if he was as comfy as she was.

“Channel 10,” and because she couldn’t resist knowing, “are you comfy?”

“Tucked up like a baby marsupial.”

“Weirdo. Now shut up. I like this bit.”

It had become a habit of theirs, to watch TV together, across separate boroughs. Clarke’s favourites were when cheesy old movies were being rerun. Tonight was _Jurassic Park_.

"Seriously, what kind of nut job would think this is a good idea?" Bellamy asked with his mouth half full of popcorn.

"What, building a park full of genetically modified dinosaurs?"

"No, thinking that flare is going to do _anything_ when you're also running right in front of a T-Rex. Like yeah it's motion receptive but YOU ARE MOVING."

"Are you disappointed in Jeff Goldblum, Bellamy?"

"Despairingly so."

They talked about everything and nothing during nights like these; from whether they would rescue each other in a raptor chase (they would, "but I wouldn't grab your butt like Sam Neill does to that kid, I don't care how life or death it is, that shit is weird," Bellamy qualified) to what dessert they'd pick out at the Visitor Center (they both would go for the green Jell-O). When the film finished, sometimes they would talk a bit more, sometimes one of them would have already fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

It turned out, that the world was a lot smaller than either of them had thought, and that Bellamy wasn't the only friendship that Clarke found herself falling into that year. Raven Reyes came into Clarke's life under the worst circumstances. When Clarke had seen her in the arms of Finn as they had stumbled through his door, Clarke's breath was stolen from her. It became even harder to breathe when she saw how gorgeous she was. Later that same evening, it hadn't been Finn banging at her door. Clarke had winced when she had looked through her peephole and seen Raven, looking almost able to breathe fire. She was dressed up for the evening, like Clarke had been, but in more public-appropriate attire. A short black mini dress curved to her body tightly, enough for Clarke to be able to see how heavily she was breathing.

"Open the door!" she had yelled.

If nothing else, Clarke wanted to avoid another scene. She let Raven in.

The conversation that followed had not been an easy one for either of them; it was not without tears and anger. But they could both agree on one thing: it was not their fault. That didn't make it stop hurting. Raven had quietly asked Clarke if she minded if she crashed with her that night.

"It's just-uh- I don't really feel like-"

Clarke had pulled her in for a hug so fierce it could have looked like an attack. "Of course. For as long as you need."

Finn's face the following morning, flowers and wine in hand, had been a sight to behold. Raven and Clarke had swung the door open and told him to fuck off, in unison. Before the definitive slam, Raven was able to sweep the alcohol from his limp grip.

They hadn't seen much of each other directly after that morning, but had bumped into each other not long after Clarke's confession about the evening to Bellamy.

Raven was a force of nature. Clarke had marvelled at how determined she was to make her life in the city a success, despite having abandoned her life across the country in order to make a go of it with Finn. She enlisted the help of Bellamy to get her a part-time job with Jasper and Monty while she waited for a job to start in the new year. Turned out, amongst other things, the girl was a genius.

"Funny how life turns out, right?" Bellamy had leaned in and asked her one day in the tea house while they were waiting for their order. They were both watching Raven and Monty prank Jasper. Clarke looked up at him and smiled. It was quickly becoming his favourite thing to see.

"Yeah. But I kind of like it," she said.

He drew his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. "Me too, princess."

 

* * *

 

 

Later that month, when Bellamy turned up to Raven's Halloween party dressed as Jeff Goldblum from _Jurassic Park_ , he knew he was going to get at least a smile out of Clarke. He was sort of hoping for a surprised giggle, too. If Octavia knew his inner thoughts, he'd be screwed.

Raven positively cackled when she opened the door, but Bellamy thought that might be more to do with her witch costume than anything else. "Get your ass in here, Blake!" She chose to usher him in with her broomstick and slap him on the ass for good measure. The party looked like it was in full swing, and his eyes couldn't help track along the heads in the room, looking for a crest of gold.

"You won't find her like that, dumbass," Raven whisper-shouted into his ear.

"What? I'm just purveying the area. And why not?" It wasn't often that Bellamy sounded perturbed, but this was definitely one of those times.

The cackles came louder and longer. Raven waltzed into the crowd, straddling her broom, and re-emerged with a red head. A _Clarke_.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

She was dressed as a mermaid, a red-headed mermaid, Ariel, mermaid, boobs, purple, bikini, tail, boobs, hair, eyes, mermaid. The thoughts shuttered in and out of his mind in nanoseconds as he tried to take her in, and how mind-blowingly hot she looked.

"Bellamy, hi! You're here! Wow!" Clarke's voice reached new highs with every word.

His hair hung curly and loose, and he had painted some fake gouges on his cheekbone. His black shirt was left undone and a dirty white bandage partially covered his abs. When he looked into Clarke's eyes, he saw they were darkening, and he didn't want to know what his own looked like. They stayed, drinking each other in without uttering a word, oblivious to the party alive around them.

Their trance was broken as soon as Jasper's papier-mache dragon tail backed into Clarke, carrying a tray of shots, and they were both dragged in to a drinking game.

For the rest of the night, the tension grew and neither of them said barely a word to the other. They spoke instead through the quiet touch of their hands. Grazing a waist, brushing a strand of hair, linking a finger, settling on a lower back, steadying for a spin on the dancefloor, massaging a neck, pinching a cheek, tapping a nose, trailing down a forearm.

That evening, it was inevitable.

Bellamy had not so much walked Clarke back to her room (she and Raven were renting from the same apartment block) as Clarke had _dragged_ him back. As soon as she had double bolted the door, she had her hand around his wrist again and began tugging him towards her bedroom.

"Did you wear that to drive me crazy?" she accused.

"That depends, is it working?"

Clarke narrowed her eyes and dragged her nails lightly down his bare chest. "Unfair."

Bellamy traced his fingers along the string at the neckline of her bikini top. He leaned in to whisper in the shell of her ear. "Pot. Kettle. Black." He felt Clarke's breath shudder against his neck and it sent chills down his spine.

"You're insufferable," she moaned.

"Then why don't you do something about-"

Generally, Bellamy liked being able to finish his own sentences. Respectful freedom of expression and all that, but if - as in this case - an interruption came from Clarke Griffin's mouth smothering his own, he decided he'd allow it.

Her kiss felt sinful, it was so good: dirty, deep and slow. She tasted of sugar and rum. Her tongue licked along the roof of his mouth as she pressed her body flush against him. Her arms snaked around his waist, her hands palmed his ass. Bellamy released a low moan that he simply did not have the self control to keep silent and went to tangle his fingers in her hair. It felt--wrong, and he pulled away.

Clarke frowned, drawing one hand up to rest on his cheek. "Is this a bad idea?" she whispered.

"If it is, I don't care."

The smile on her face was doing something to his heart. "Me neither," she said, her thumb pad skating across his lower lip and finding her favourite dimple of his. "So what's stopping you?"

As she leant back towards his mouth, seeking his lips, he stilled her. "Uh- may I?" he asked, gesturing to her hair. Clarke looked confused for an instant, until she looked down at her shoulders and saw his hands toying with her fake hair. She leaned back slightly from her waist, pushing her hips further into Bellamy and giving him an eyeful of her chest and elongated neck: miles and miles of creamy pale skin. She took her hands away from him and reached up to pull the wig off. Her hair was braided into a crown a top her head; she removed the ties and started to unfurl, letting the strands fall like golden waves against her skin.

"Fuck," she heard Bellamy say, feeling him pull her to him. When Clarke looked up at him, his eyes were black and they were taking in every inch of her. Her fingers fell through her hair, down the outline of her bikini top, dipping underneath the fabric to graze her nipples. "You are unbelievably hot, Clarke Griffin. Like- _fuck_."

"Real eloquent, Blake."

"Shut up," he said, squeezing her breasts.

"I'm sort of waiting for you to make me."

Clarke squealed as he lifted her up and kissed her hungrily. They kissed as if it would fuel them, as if there was something worth chasing if only they could find it. This was a battle for dominance they could both enjoy. Clarke panted against his mouth as she broke away and mumbled something to herself.

"What was that?" Bellamy turned his attention to sucking at her earlobe.

Clarke keened. "This fucking fishtail. I can't move my legs."

Bellamy looked down between them at where Clarke was trying to wriggle out of her green tapered skirt, and burst out laughing.

"Bell!" She whacked him on the chest but couldn't help but join in, half in amusement and half in frustration. "Help get me out of it?"

"Absolutely." He lowered her gently, and turned her around. She could feel him, hard against her lower back. She leant her head back against his shoulder, drawing his hands back to her breasts. He cupped and squeezed them, kissing her hotly against the space where her shoulder met her neck. "God you feel good against me," Clarke whispered. His hands swept hotly down her side until he got to the zipper of her skirt. He knelt down, following the zipper to the floor, and when he turned her around again, he stayed kneeling. As he looked back up at Clarke, his hands travelled to the lace edges of her panties. Raising an eyebrow in a silent question, Clarke licked her lips and nodded - her breath coming quickly as her hands settled on his shoulders. He pushed the tiny fabric aside and brushed a finger against her. Clarke swallowed a moan as Bellamy rolled the scrap of lace down to her ankles. His tongue against her clit sent sparks through her, and Clarke found herself clenching her hands around his muscles to compensate. He swirled and sucked lasciviously, and started to slide a finger in and out of her at the same time. Clarke mewled in pleasure; when she asked for more he added another finger and began to use his tongue to stroke against her folds. The pressure was building up in her and Clarke could feel how wet she was for him, but it wasn't until she heard Bellamy's groans against her that she let go.

By the time they reached her bed, they were both naked and out of breath.

"You feel amazing under me," Bellamy muttered into her neck as he dragged her arms above her head. He found it impossible to stop trailing kisses down her jaw and throat. "What do you want, princess? Tell me what you want." He settled on top of her, letting her feel the weight of him.

Clarke arched her back and wrapped her legs firmly around his waist, squeezing them to force him to press against her. "I need you in me, like yesterday."

He kissed her fiercely and pulled back up. "Do I need to get-"

"No, we're fine, just _move_." They weren't idiots, they just knew way more about each other's sexual health than perhaps is normal. They both knew they were clean. They both knew Clarke was on the pill.

"Anyone tell you you're a little impatient?"

In an instant, he had moved without her noticing and thrust into her, open and waiting, setting a relentless pace. His hands kept her arms trapped above her. She itched to feel him, to run her hands over his body, anywhere she could touch, but on the other hand it felt so good to just give in to him.

"Oh god, holy shit, yes-"

"You better not be faking," he growled into her, burying his face against her neck and sucking at her pulse point.

"Really not an issue," she gasped, pulling her legs higher against him to draw him deeper.

"Shit, Clarke-"

"I know, I know, keep going-"

"God you sound amazing."

"Bell-"

"Again."

"Bell!"

It was the sound of her calling his name that did it. Bellamy came with a scattering of grunts into the valley of her breasts, and sucked against her until she followed. She felt weightless under him. Free.

He gave her a sloppy kiss to the cheek and laid panting beside her. If he hadn't noticed he was tracing patterns into her thigh that was flung on top of his, she wasn't going to tell him. Instead, she was going to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Clarke woke up in the morning to an empty bed. She stretched out, her hands palming the mattress next to her; it did not feel particularly warm. She sat up and listened intently; the only sounds she could hear were from outside the apartment. She checked the time. 9am. She took a couple of deep breaths. Clarke had been trying a new thing recently: to be better at not jumping to conclusions. Especially with Bellamy Blake. With that in mind, she picked up her cell and tapped out a quick message.

 **Clarke:** _Hey you. Where'd you go?_

She smiled to herself as she spelled the words correctly. Maybe he was out getting milk, or coffee, or croissants. He could be a real sap sometimes, she thought and smiled to herself.

It was a few moments later when Bellamy's reply pinged in.

 **Bellamy:** _Hey sorry, had a work thing._

Clarke's brow furrowed, her heart sinking slightly.

 **Clarke:** _On a Saturday? Cruel._

 **Bellamy:** _Yeah you're telling me. Speak later?_

 **Clarke:** _Sure_

Bellamy's work load could be crazy at times, she knew. It was just her luck, she thought, that it had to get in the way of - whatever that was last night. If she'd had to label it, she would probably settle on 'mind blowing sex'. She let out a sigh and flung herself back on her pillows, stretching out and reliving the memories of his touch in her head. God, it had been so hot, _he_ was so hot. But he was also _Bellamy_. The butterflies in Clarke's stomach took a while to calm down.

Another message pinged in.

 **Raven** _: & where did U get to last night????_

Clarke bit down on a smile.

 **Clarke** : _Me and Bell had some business to attend to ;)_

 **Raven _:_** _KNEW IT!!! SPILL!!! EVERYTHING!!!_

 **Raven _:_** _I'm so happy 4 u, u know that?_

 **Clarke _:_** _Ur the best <3 coffee?_

 **Raven _:_** _U know where 2 find me_

After she had flung a hoodie and runners on, she walked down the two flights of stairs that separated her apartment from Raven's. The place was a mess, but everyone had at least cleared out for them to start tidying. "It was amazing, Ray-" she had started multiple times to try and describe the evening but couldn't really do much more than words that wouldn't do it justice. Wouldn't do how she was feeling justice.

"No surprises there, babe. You just have to look at the two of you to know that the sex would be smokin'" Raven told her with confidence.

Clarke had laughed. "Okay, creep!"

"I'm telling the truth! So where's lover boy now?"

"He's - well, he's not my lover boy, Raven, we don't live in the '50s. He had to go to work."

"Bummer, I wanted to see if his post-sex face was as glowing as yours."

Five trash bags later and they were done. Not too bad, all in all. "This is the life of a sophisticated adult," Raven informed them both.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't until she called him later that day that she had realised the situation for what it was: a blow off.

Not that she had anything to compare it to with Bellamy, but the fact that he hadn't even called her should have been the first sign. It wasn't as if they spoke on the phone every day, but after a pretty monumental night together, she thought it would be a given. When it got to 8pm, she bit the bullet and did it herself.

It took him six rings to pick up. It didn't do anything to help the unease that was building in her gut.

"Hey. Clarke." He sounded distant.

"Hey," she tried for cheery but couldn't stop her throat from closing up a little. "How was work?"

"Much the same." He paused. "Look uh- I'm sorry about this morning. I should've... left a note or something."

"Oh, yeah, no don't worry about that."

A pause.

"How was your day?"

"Fine. Good. I helped Raven clear up. She wondered where we disappeared to."

"Doesn't miss a trick, that one." She couldn't find the humor in his voice like normal.

The conversation was playing out so slowly, it was painful. It was like they had completely forgotten how to talk to one another.

Bellamy said it first. "This is weird right?"

Clarke let out a small laugh. "So weird, and it shouldn't be."

"You're so right, it shouldn't have happened."

Clarke froze. That wasn't what she had said. She knew he knew that.

"Right," she said quietly.

"Clarke, I just mean, it's making us weird with each other. We don't want that, right?"

Unbelievable. _Unfuckingbelievable_. Clarke could barely speak. She didn't care that she wasn't filling the silence. _Fuck his silence_.

"We're probably better off as friends after all?" Bellamy offered. His voice didn't even sound like it was shaking, and it made Clarke sick. And angry.

She found her voice.

"No, Bell. No. I, umm. I actually don't think that's a good idea. We can't - I can't be friends with you. I guess you were right after all. Congratulations."

She hung up.

 

* * *

 

"Hey Clarke, it's me. Bellamy. Just wanted to check in. Ok. Well call me when you have a chance."

"Clarke, Bellamy here. We really need to talk. Call me."

"Me again. How about we try the thing where you don't ignore me? Call me, please? Oh by the way, it's Bell."

And so over the next couple of months, Clarke's voicemail began to fill with messages from one Bellamy Blake.

Sometimes they were heartfelt (" _Please, princess, I know I'm a jerk, just talk to me?_ ") and sometimes they were just downright annoying (" _Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up_ "). Sometimes they were random (" _Do you think ball games should be illegal in public parks? Because I can tell you Fred, the complete stranger I met on the subway today, sure thinks so_ ") and sometimes they were enough to make her cry (" _Every day I've missed you. Today is no different_.")

Avoiding Bellamy wasn't easy, nor was it particularly practical. It wasn't as if she never saw him; their lives were too entangled and she had already learned the hard way how difficult it was to pick up the pieces of your social life after Finn. It was why she wasn't backing down from the friendships she had now, she was being the mature person, but nothing was the same and they both knew it.

The first time she had seen him after the phone call had been at the tea house; she had been dropping off something for Raven and he had been there at the counter, with Jasper and Monty too. It had been awkward, but there had been safety in numbers. She was civil to him, and it was easy to focus on everyone else rather than each other. He didn't try and follow her out of the shop when she left. Clarke couldn't tell if she was disappointed or not.

The voicemails started a couple of days after that, once Bellamy had realised that only seeing her as part of a group wasn't enough for him.

Too bad.

Raven knew, because how could she not. She was the world's best shield. It wasn't like she bore Bellamy a grudge beyond calling him a fucking idiot every so often, but she protected Clarke because that was what she needed.

Bellamy didn't need Raven to tell him, he already knew.

He had thought, he _knew_ , that somehow Clarke Griffin's friendship had become the most important thing in this new stage of his life. When he had opened his eyes on the morning after Raven's party, all he could see was her. She had been breathing so softly against his neck. He had looked down at their bodies, naked, pressed together, limbs entwined. He had smiled at the memory of her underneath him, the taste of her.

And then he had panicked.

What now? What next?

He had thought back to their first meeting. He didn't want to be right. He didn't want sex to ruin everything precious that they had. He hadn't realised in that moment, that it could give them _more_ , rather than take away. So he found himself pulling away, gently, soundlessly, and walking all the way back to Brooklyn.

When Clarke had messaged him, he was still walking, still unsure. He lied about work. He wondered whether he'd ever lied to Clarke before.

By the time evening rolled around, he was determined that nothing should get in the way of their friendship, their connection. And that was when he lost it all.

He had tried everything in the meantime: the pleading voicemails, the respect of her space and privacy in public - nothing was returning to normal and he _hurt_. The emptiness hurt.

On New Year's Eve, he typed a message.

 **Bellamy** : _I've fucked up._

He pressed send.

 

* * *

 

Clarke was in a sartorial world of pain when she heard the knock on the door. With only an hour to go before she was supposed to be ready to go out, she had spilled a glass of red wine on her dress, her planned outfit for the evening. She had texted Raven in a panic and started to spread out any remotely glitzy item of clothing onto her bed to find a back up; Raven was going to bring over some clothes too. "It's open!" Clarke yelled from her room. Her hair and make up were pretty much done, but if she didn't find another option soon, she would be going out in a bath robe.

"Raven, this is a disaster!"

She had rooted out a mini skirt as a potential choice and was scrabbling around trying to find a top that would suit it when he cleared his throat.

"Uh, not Raven."

Clarke's heart stopped momentarily as her head snapped round to take in the sight of Bellamy leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom.

"Bellamy - what..." Her head was spinning, and not really because of the wine. "What are you doing here?"

He kept spreading his weight from one foot to the next; he was nervous.

"I came here to say, to tell you, that - that little sisters are really useful things."

Clarke was beyond confused. He came all the way here to tell her _what_? She played with the skirt in her hand for lack of anything else to do while she thought of a reply. Bellamy was watching her closely, and damn him for making it feel good to see him again.

"Well I'm pretty sure they're people, not things." Bellamy smiled, so warmly at her that it hurt her heart and made her heave in a breath. She was still so confused. "What-"

"I talked to Octavia," he blurted out, stepping one foot over the threshold and into her room.

"O-kay? How is she?" Clarke asked.

Bellamy's smile was spreading, as if he couldn't believe she existed, let alone that she was in front of him. In a bath robe, no less. Clarke cringed at the thought.

"She's many things. She's angry, and frustrated, and - illuminating."

Clarke didn't know what to say. He looked so earnest in front of her, willing her to understand something that was presently so far beyond her reach. He was closer now, and his hands flinched out sometimes, as if he was itching to hold her. Clarke closed her eyes and batted the thought away, just clutched her skirt tighter.

"Clarke-" Bellamy's voice was low, and hurting. She could feel the tears building behind her eyes but wouldn't let them fall. It was too much, having him and not having him. She bit hard into her lip when she felt his warm hands envelop her own, teasing the skirt from out of her vice-like grip and letting it fall to the floor. "Clarke, open your eyes." His voice was barely a whisper, but she heard him. His face in front of her was full of raw emotion: passion, need, and regret. "Clarke, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that for me, princess?" A sob threatened to escape her throat at the gentleness of his voice; she nodded loosely, barely feeling where her neck met her head.

Bellamy cleared his throat and rubbed his thumbs tenderly across her wrists.

"I told her, about my mistake. I was scared, and - in Raven's words - a fucking idiot." His voice remained calm and soft and sure. Clarke trembled next to him. "I told O that I'd fucked everything up; the one thing I wanted to protect: what I had with you." Clarke's eyes met his with a question but she found no doubt there. "I know, I mean I definitely know that I didn't show it. O made that clear. I thought - I would have done anything to keep you in my life, and when that night between us - I don't even know now, we were different and I thought that meant we were in danger of losing what we had." When Clarke looked like she was about to protest, he lightly squeezed her hands. "Please- princess, I know. I know now it was utter bullshit. I know it was natural to feel a little uncertain when neither of us had spoken about it. I just ended up wrecking everything and losing you in the process anyway. But - that's not why I'm here."

"Then why?" Clarke breathed.

"You already know how fucked my opinions on relationships have been in the past. I don't need to relive them with you. I didn't think you could have both. And if it was one or the other with you, Clarke, I wanted you - I wanted your friendship. Your - ugh, I don't know if it sounds lame or not. I don't know if it means what I want it to mean." He drew her hands up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles softly. "I am insanely attracted to you, I think about the things I would do to your body all the time. The way you say my name drives me insane and that night? Was the best sex I've ever fucking had. Do you get it?" He needed her to understand, he needed it so desperately. "It's painfully hard trying _not_ to be attracted to you. But I needed to put who you are, and what you mean to me, above that."

"And here I thought my train of thought was screwed up," Clarke said, a little impatiently.

Bellamy let out a small laugh and flung his head back in frustration. "I'm fucking this up," he muttered, almost to himself.

"How exactly did O help in all of this?" she asked.

"She asked me if I had felt happy since Halloween. I told her no. She asked me if I regretted sleeping with you. I told her no. She asked me if I'd ever regretted a decision more than walking out on you that morning. I told her no. She asked me if I could imagine my life without you, in it, like before. I told her no. Then she asked me if I thought I was in love with you."

Clarke's heart was hammering against her chest.

"What did you tell her?" she whispered.

Bellamy stepped further into the space between them. He leant down and pressed his forehead against hers, drawing her hands behind him so they could link around his neck. His skin felt hot, and his breath was coming quickly, fanning against her flushed cheeks. He whispered back, "I told her yes."

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and felt a tear escape, burning a hot trail down the side of her face as she battled with herself. She _ached_ with love for him, had dreams about something like this moment, a confession she had waited for, a future she had glimpsed at alone in that bed. But she didn't know if she could let herself believe.

"Bell, you can't -" she started, and felt him tense beside her. "Just because you miss me, or you want to be friends again, or because it's New Year's Eve, that's fucked up-"

His hands came up to cup her cheeks as he leant down to level his eyes with hers.

"That is _not_ what is happening, Clarke," he said fiercely. "I'm not saying this because I'm lonely, I'm saying it because it's true. Yes I've missed you, yes I've been miserable without you, but it's because I love you not because it's a stupid holiday. I _love_ you. And when you realise you want to be with someone - that you've wanted to be with someone for so long you were just too stupid to realise - well then you want to start making up for your mistakes right away. You want to be with that person like you need to breathe. And so I'm here. I'm so crazy in love with you, you've got to believe me."

He leant into her and drew his mouth in closer to hers; Clarke opened her mouth slowly to welcome his when he pulled back with a start. His eyes looked nervous and his voice was the most unstable it had been since this whirlwind of a conversation began. "What about you?" he asked quietly into the new space between them.

"Me?"

"Do you-" He wasn't going to make her answer that question. He stepped back, mortified. God, he really was a dick. Not only had he made her feel like shit, now he was pushing his love on her - what if she didn't want it? He had no idea what her feelings were towards him. He was scared to know. Bellamy had no idea what to ask, what to say. He didn't want to retract anything - he had been honest, which is only what Clarke deserved. She had deserved that from the beginning. "That was what I came here to say."

Clarke was reeling. This was a lot. This was the most. And Bellamy didn't appear to be going anywhere. He hadn't actually gone anywhere, ever since she had met him. He had always been there. Even when Clarke had decided that being his friend would be too much, too painful.

She guessed it was time to be honest.

"I love you too," Clarke admitted, in her softest voice. "And you're an idiot." She was saying it half to him, half to herself, her eyes on the floor where her mini skirt lay pooled at her feet. She looked up at him, saw him standing in front of her - strong and steady, at least in body. His eyes were raking over every inch of her face, looking for the truth in it.

"Love me as a friend," he paused to clear his throat, his voice was getting raspier at each passing word, "or more?"

Bellamy's eyes grew wider with every step Clarke took towards him. When her mouth reached his, he let out a groan. "Clarke-" Her kiss was soft and loving, and told him everything he needed.

"I love you in every way," he told her between breaths. Her lips were soft, covered in a thin layer of gloss that he gently sucked off. Clarke's chest heaved against his own with yearning. He brought his hands to her face, brushing the hair back from her shoulders as he told her how beautiful she was. Everywhere he touched felt like lines of fire to Clarke. When she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, Bellamy caressed it with his own. They kissed as if they had all the time in the world, as if their mouths were having entire conversations.

Clarke deepened it when she grazed her teeth along his lower lip; taking his hand and leading it to rest inside the collar of her robe. He could feel her heart beating as wildly as his own. "I want you, Bell. Just you."

This time, when their mouths met, it was anything but soft. Clarke opened her robe and pushed Bellamy back to sit at the edge of her bed. Their mouths separated enough to take his sweater off and fling it next to her skirt. The feel of her breasts against his bare chest sent Clarke wild, and she pushed up and down against him, trying to get the friction she needed on them without either of them having to detangle their hands, buried in each other's hair. They held on to each other like they were drowning at sea. Clarke whimpered at the pleasure shooting from her nipples and the sound went straight to Bellamy's groin. He pulled her down on top of him as he laid back, shuffling his pants off at pace, as Clarke teased his jawline desperately. He used Clarke's robe belt when he was done to pull her down, flush against him again, hoisting his leg up over her ass to trap her.

"I'm never letting you go again," he sighed into her skin. He sat up slightly, inching further towards to headboard to lean back and admire Clarke, radiantly sat on top of him. When he felt her palming his erection he let his head drop back, gripping her thighs tightly. His eyes found hers instantly when she slid onto his length. She went slow, savouring the feel of him inside her until she couldn't take him any deeper. "Oh - Bell -" she breathed. Clarke kept this languid pace as Bellamy stroked every inch of her he could find. When she started bouncing against him with more energy, he leant forward to support her from behind, his arms firm against her back to help her keep the rhythm.

"That's it babe - oh god -" he panted against the hollow of her throat, taking her full breasts into his mouth whenever they passed. When he could feel himself getting close he put his hand between them, rubbing small circles against her, sending promises into her mouth. _I love you, I love you, I love you_. She came around his name and he came around hers.

 

* * *

 

They say the way you spend New Year's Eve is the way you're destined to spend the rest of the year.

Bullshit, they both thought. It was how they were going to spend the rest of their lives.

 

 


End file.
